


comfort of strangers

by divorceadvocate



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Sex, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, OKAY THIS ONE IS A BIT OF A DOOZY, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Other, Pegging, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Fingering, juno and peter fuck other people while pining for each other thats it thats the fic, more detailed content warnings are in the notes!, title taken from Comfort Of Strangers by Bastille
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25325503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divorceadvocate/pseuds/divorceadvocate
Summary: And suddenly Nureyev was thinking of Juno. He was thinking of how badly he’d wanted to slide that ratty coat off of his shoulders, and kiss away the pain of the injuries he’d sustained that day, and bend him over his desk to-“Ptolemy?”Nureyev snapped out his fantasy, back to the reality of the situation, which was that Juno Steel was miles away, that night had been days ago, he was now turned on just thinking about the damn detective, and Farrah Lancaster was still on his knees in front of him, looking less desperate and more confused.Well. Juno and Lancaster were about the same height.
Relationships: Juno Steel/Other(s), Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev/Other(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 116





	comfort of strangers

**Author's Note:**

> FUCKING HEKLL. ive been working on this bitch since MAY. im so tired of writing this, i hate it here. 
> 
> ANYWAYS. these bitches do Not cope healthily. they both have sex with people they barely know, they make bad choices, and it gets a little sad in this bitch. if thats not your cup of tea, close the tab! read some fluff! i wont be offended. i have also written juno as amab and nureyev as afab in this fic. i use masc coded language for nureyevs Business, and he does get fingered. 
> 
> theres 2 scenes where they drink! if you want to skip them but read the rest:  
> -the first scene with drinking is right at the beginning and ends with, "...slender fingers, bright eyes."  
> -the second (emetophobia warning for this but as well) starts with "Nureyev didn’t really know how he ended up here." and ends after "...that was just dropped into his lap." THIS IS ALSO THE SCENE WITH DUBCON, it gets a little intense. 
> 
> OKAY THAT WAS A LOT ALRIGHT ENJOY THIS FUCKING MONSTER OF A FIC THAT I HAVE BARELY EDITED

Juno misses him. He doesn’t want to say it out loud or even think it, but it’s true. Peter Nureyev left him with only a note and the lingering scent of his cologne, and Juno held onto both of those things for dear life. 

He’s overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with work, with the fact that he fucked up the Kanagawa case, with thoughts of Peter Nureyev, with Mick and Rita on his comms, with the ceaseless, neverending hustle and bustle of Hyperion City. It’s a lot, and when things get to be a lot, Juno turns to the one thing that’s never let him down; a nice glass or seven of whiskey.

Well, that was a lie. Drinking had let him down more times than Juno could count. But for a few blissful hours, his senses were numbed and he felt just happy enough that the hangover he would have the next day seemed worth it. He was never very good at learning his lessons.

Juno just wanted to sit alone at the bar and drink until the bartender at the shitty nightclub next to his apartment complex had to shake him awake and tell him to scram. And he managed the first part of that very well, halfway through his third glass and staring at the wooden grain on the bar when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. 

It was a man across the room, talking to one of the dancers at the club, gesturing as he made what was likely a very unfunny joke judging by the way the dancer grimaced and fake-laughed. He was tall, lanky, with slicked back hair as dark as night. He had his back to Juno, his painted nails and his ear-cuff glinting in the sickly red neon lights. Juno’s heart dropped to his stomach, and he thought for one horrifying moment that he might throw up all over the floor. 

His body acted before his mind did. He chugged the rest of his drink and slammed the empty glass onto the bar before standing up. His world swayed and dipped before righting itself again, and he started to make his way through the gyrating and dancing crowd that pressed in on all sides, eyes glued to the black head of hair that stood taller than everyone else around them. 

It felt like forever, but he finally made it. To him. Without thinking, the need and desperation in his heart so intense that it hurt, he reached out, gripped the man’s elbow. 

“Nurey-”

The man turned and Juno wanted to punch himself right in his own stupid face.

It wasn’t Nureyev. It was a lanky man in a nightclub with dark hair. Stupid. 

“Oh,” Juno said, letting go of his elbow, stumbling back a few steps. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else-”

A particularly rowdy dancer collided with him just then and Juno’s feet slipped out from under him and the floor was suddenly rushing up to meet him. But his face was saved from being smashed into the ground by a pair of arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him upright. 

"Hey, careful there, wouldn't want to bust that pretty face up, right?" The man was grinning at Juno, holding him flush against his body now, and Juno suddenly didn't mind that it wasn't Nureyev. Who needed Peter Nureyev? Not him. 

"Yeah, it's a little crazy in here," Juno said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "Do you want to get out of here?" 

Later, Juno held onto the headboard of his bed for dear life with one hand, while the other dug into the back of the man's neck. His name was... Raven? Rain? Reuben? It was hard to remember, what with his hard thrusts up into Juno, with the sting of his scalp as he pulled his head back by his hair to expose his neck. His teeth sunk into his neck and drew a strangled gasp from Juno’s chest. 

Yeah, it was definitely Reuben. Reuben's pace was brutal, each time their hips smacked together it was a mix of pain and pleasure that coalesced and made Juno pant and whine in his lap, hungry for more but not sure how much more of this his body could take. He was already overstimulated and they'd barely even started, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and his chest heaving with each ragged breath he took. 

"Ah-!" Juno cried out as Reuben bit down even harder on the side of his neck, pulling his hair to get the angle of it just so. Juno was roadkill and Reuben was a stray rabbit desperate for any sort of meal. 

"You like that, you whore?" he growled into Juno's neck, tightening the grip on his hair, speeding up the pace of his thrusts. "You like it when I hurt you? When I treat you like a cheap slut? Huh?" Juno couldn't nod, and he wasn't able to form actual words, so instead he whimpered, rolling his hips down onto Reuben, hoping he'd get the message. 

"That's what I like to hear," he said, his voice growing more strained by the second, and Juno could tell Reuben was getting close. His movements were sloppier, had less purpose. "You're just a filthy, worthless whore. I bet you would've been fine just letting me fuck you in the middle of that bar for everyone to see, right?" Juno's nails dragged down his wall, and the sounds he made were somewhere between sobs and moans. He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked himself in time with Reuben's thrusts. 

His eyes squeezed shut and behind his eyelids, for just a moment, he imagined a pair of fangs, slender fingers, bright eyes. 

-

Ptolemy Virgil laughed at some god awful joke that he didn't really catch the punchline of, throwing his head back and letting Sir Farrah Lancaster get a good look at the long line of his throat and the gold jewelry that adorned it. 

"Oh, Sir Lancaster, you're too funny! I haven't laughed this hard in years, dear, let me tell you that," Ptolemy said. Ptolemy meant every word, but Peter Nureyev didn't. Peter Nureyev wanted to take off the gold jewelry on his neck because it itched and caught on the hairs at the nape of his neck, and he wanted to go back to his hotel room and sleep. But he needed information from Lancaster, and he needed it badly. So he kept that smile plastered on his face and prayed that his intel was correct and that flirting with this man that was frankly far too stupid for him would be worth it. 

"Oh, please," Lancaster said, "Call me Farrah." 

The plan was to get friendly with Lancaster, get alone with Lancaster, and then once he was distracted or unconscious, steal the documents he needed right out of his desk drawers. It was a good thing Nureyev was flexible about plans, because Lancaster pressing him against the wall of his living room the second the door shut behind him was not part of it. His hands trembled as they dragged down Nureyev’s chest, catching on his buttons and wrenching them open, his kisses sloppy and desperate. Lancaster clearly didn’t get out of the house much. 

“Hey, hey-” Nureyev grabbed him by the wrists, pulling them away from his body. “Slow down, dearest,” he said, trying to catch his breath after nearly getting the wind knocked out of him. He probably already looked a mess, shirt half open and lipstick smeared across his chin. Lancaster seemed to like it, though, trying to press forward even as Nureyev pushed back. 

“I don’t want to wait,” he replied, breathless, looking at Nureyev with pleading eyes. “I’ve waited for you my whole life, Ptolemy, and I can’t wait a second more.” Nureyev resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Trust fund babies were all the same; self-made victims that thought they were oppressed because the mountains of money they sat on made it  _ so  _ hard for anyone to  _ truly love them.  _ It was disgusting, but it was easy to exploit. 

“Why don’t we have a drink first, hm?” he suggested gently, rubbing his thumb into Lancaster’s racing pulse. His mind flashed to the pills hidden in the lining of his pants; if he could just get Lancaster’s back to turn for a moment, he could slip one into his drink, and Lancaster would doze off within the half hour. He could find what he needed, slip out and-

“Please,” Lancaster whispered, and, fucking hell, fell to his knees before Nureyev. “I need you, I need you now.” 

Nureyev stared down at Lancaster, at this pathetic excuse for a man that was so desperate to live life like a star in a soap stream. He was everything Nureyev hated about rich people; demanding and dramatic, convinced the world revolved around them. His whining reminded him of the last rich family he had the misfortune of interacting with; the Kanagawas. The thought of having to interact again with any of them, especially Cecil, made his stomach twist. He could still hear his shrill laughter, his even more shrill crying, and the way he shouted ‘ _ June-bug’ _ across the mansion at his and Juno’s backs. 

And suddenly he was thinking of Juno. Of his scowling pout, the flush of his cheeks when Nureyev would fluster him. He was thinking of the way he’d asked him to stay, clutching his glass with white knuckles, scared of the inevitable end of their night. He was thinking of the rough texture of his coat under his hands as he’d pulled him closer and shared that first, fiery kiss with him, the one that had tasted of whiskey and blood. He was thinking of how badly he’d wanted to slide that ratty coat off of his shoulders, and kiss away the pain of the injuries he’d sustained that day, and bend him over his desk to-

“Ptolemy?”

Nureyev snapped out his fantasy, back to the reality of the situation, which was that Juno Steel was miles away, that night had been days ago, he was now turned on just thinking about the damn detective, and Farrah Lancaster was still on his knees in front of him, looking less desperate and more confused. 

Well. Juno and Lancaster were about the same height. 

“Get up,” he ordered, letting go of Lancaster’s wrists. He obeyed, of course he did. “You are going to show me to your bedroom, and you’re going to lay in your bed, and I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember either of our names. How does that sound?” 

Lancaster’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, struggling for words. “Why, Ptolemy, how forward of you, I-”

Nureyev grabbed him by the throat. Not hard enough to truly choke him, but enough pressure to be a warning. “I didn’t say you could speak.” 

Afterwards, when Lancaster was fast asleep in his bed, covered in sweat and exhausted from overstimulation and Nureyev was cleaning himself up in the bathroom, he grimaced at the memory of their skin touching, of his fingers inside of Lancaster. Kissing him had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he wished he’d gagged the pompous asshole because his noises were far too performative for Nureyev’s taste. 

But there were moments that he relished in as he rooted through Lancaster’s drawers. The feeling of his thighs wrapping around Nureyev’s head, the way his eyes had glazed over as his fifth orgasm rolled over him, the groan he’d let out when Nureyev had bit him just a little too hard on his hip. 

He found the file he was looking for, and lamented on his way back to his hotel room that he hadn’t been able to finish at all. Not that he wanted Lancaster to try; he was certain the poor man had probably never brought another person pleasure in his life before, in bed or otherwise. But there was still that insistent heat that pooled between his legs when he tossed the documents into his suitcase and fell back onto the hotel room bed. 

Nureyev didn’t even bother taking his pants off, he just unbuttoned them and shoved his hand between his legs, letting out a small gasp as he rubbed his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to imagine that his long, slender fingers were shorter, thicker. He tried to imagine that the bedsheets he held onto were the sleeves of a trench coat. 

\--

Juno’s back was starting to hurt. Really, everything hurt right then. His knees and the side of his face pressed into the mattress, his back arched at a punishing angle, his arm pinned behind him. And, of course, the strap on he was currently being fucked with so hard that he saw stars with each thrust. The pain of the position he was being held in was drowned out by the blissful sensation of literally everything else. 

“Are you okay down there?” she asked between her own panting breaths, pulling Juno’s arm that she had pinned. He responded with, “ _ Guh.”  _

“Okay, great,” she said, and he could tell she was laughing at him. But he didn’t really have the capacity to care about that, or about anything beyond how close he was, and how hard he was. 

She adjusted behind him, trying a new angle, and Juno was done for. He gasped, his free hand scrambling for something to grab onto and settling on the pillow his face was shoved into. His hips rocked back into hers, chasing his finish. 

“Please, please, please-” he realized he was saying, words slurred and mumbled between whimpers, and she seemed to get the message, fucking him harder, faster. Her hand slid between his legs and grasped his cock, and she didn’t need to do much beyond that because his entire body went rigid and he was coming. 

“Ah _ , AH, fuck, Peter!”  _ he shouted, back arching once more before he collapsed onto the mattress, spent and exhausted, panting and dizzy with pleasure. 

Juno barely registered her pulling out and tossing the strap on aside before laying down next to him. She didn’t try to cuddle him or kiss him or touch him at all really, which Juno was fine with. He needed to catch his breath first, and come back down from his orgasm.

“So... who’s Peter?” she asked. 

Okay, and just like that he was back down. It was like she’d splashed a bucket of ice water over his head, and his eyes went wide in horror. She seemed to sense his terror, because she quickly added, “I’m not mad or anything, just curious.” Juno covered his burning face with his hands so that he didn’t have to see her smug smile. 

“He... we never dated,” he said, slowly. 

“Ah, friend with benefits?”

Juno’s face turned even more red. “No, not- not exactly?”

“...old hookup?”

“No, we never actually-”

She sat up on her elbows, her eyes lighting up in mischief. “Holy shit, you never even fucked this man and you’re yelling his name in bed?!”

“Okay, when you put it like that I sound like a loser-”

“What did he do, steal your heart with a kiss and then disappear into the night?”

Juno opened his mouth to argue but stopped short. “Um. Actually, yeah.”

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before sighed and laying back down, smiling softly. “Sounds romantic, actually. If a little pathetic.”

“Hey-”

“No, I think it’s cute. You should call him.”

Juno snorted. “Yeah, that’s- that’s not happening,” he mumbled, staring up at the ceiling and trying to ignore the way his heart clenched in his chest. 

She seemed to get the hint, and didn’t pry further, instead rolling over and pulling on a t-shirt. She stood, stretching her arms above her head and groaning quietly as her joints popped. 

She wasn’t Juno’s usual type; she was shorter, softer around the edges, and her smile was kinder than any of his past partners. But she was sassy, quick as a whip, and Juno found himself genuinely enjoying her company when they’d met. For a minute, he’d considered not sleeping with her, maybe maintaining a friendship. God knows he needed one. 

But that clearly didn’t work out. 

Juno propped himself up. “Uh, do you want me to, um-” He gestured vaguely towards her and then towards the bed.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll probably just get myself off in the shower. No offense.”

“None taken. Could you get me some water?”

“Sure thing.”

\--

And then Nureyev came back.

There was a card game. A train robbery. Torture and pain intercut with Nureyev’s hands cleaning the blood off of Juno’s face so tenderly that it almost hurt more than the tumor inside of his head. A bomb. Bloodied knuckles banging against a door. A kiss. A hotel room. 

Nureyev laid beside Juno after he had made love to him, after he had made Juno moan his name like it was a prayer. His head that laid on Juno’s chest was filled with fantasies of the next morning, of being able to wake up to Juno Steel and kiss his forehead and tell him he loved him more than he’d loved anything else before. He fell asleep nearly immediately, head filled with fantasies of travelling the stars with his love. He breathed deeply and evenly, drawing up plans behind closed eyes.

Until Juno shifted beneath him, gently moving Nureyev’s body off of him and slipping out of bed. Nureyev awoke but his eyes stayed closed, and he could hear the sounds of Juno pulling his clothes back on, the rustle of his belt being done around his waist. Maybe he was just going to the bathroom, he thought, trying to file away the panic he felt rising in his throat. It wasn’t until he heard the door open that he dared to look. 

There was Juno, fully dressed, silhouetted in the light of the hallway outside their room, standing in the threshold of the doorway that definitely didn’t lead to the bathroom. 

“Juno?” his voice was barely a hoarse whisper, it got caught in his throat and nearly choked him. If he heard Nureyev, he didn’t acknowledge it. He closed the door behind him and left Nureyev to stare wide-eyed into the dark and listen to his soft footsteps fade away down the hallway. 

\--

Nureyev didn’t really know how he ended up here. He had started the night as Asha Alistair, a confident and suave man who was just going to the bar for a few drinks. But now he couldn’t remember his alias because he was far too drunk. He was kissing the waistband of a man who he had decided to hit on because he was attracted to his curly hair, the nasty scar on his shoulder, and how strong and sturdy his frame was. No, he didn’t look like Juno, not at all, that’s a ridiculous assumption to make. 

His fingers were laced into Nureyev’s hair, tugging harshly as he undid his pants with sloppy movements. There was a part of Nureyev, a part of him that was still a little bit sober and still had a shred of dignity, that wanted to run away from this whole situation. Nureyev didn’t like not being in control. It felt like he was free-falling each time, and that the only thing keeping him from crashing was the support of whoever his partner was, and he didn’t trust anyone like that. Well, anyone aside from-

“Hurry up,” the man grunted, tugging at Nureyev’s hair, pulling him from his thoughts and making him realize he was just sitting there with his hand halfway inside the man's boxers. 

“Oh,” he said dumbly. “So sorry.” He pulled him out of his boxers and took him inside his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against the underside of his cock. He sunk down to the base of it, and was satisfied with the low groan from above him. Nureyev placed his hands on the backs of the man’s thighs, and started bobbing his head up and down, ignoring the spit dribbling down his chin and likely making a mess of his pants. The man reached down and grabbed a fistful of Nureyev’s hair. 

“Yeah, oh fuck, yeah, like that,” he slurred, just as drunk as Nureyev was, if not more. His hand slid to the nape of Nureyev’s neck, cradling his head. Nureyev hummed, and went a little faster, spurred by the praise, the warmth of the hand on him, and by the several shots he’d taken. 

“Mm, yeah, yeah-” His other hand came down to Nureyev as well, and then he was cupping his face. Well, cupping wasn’t the right word. It was more like he had a death grip on it, his fingernails digging into the back of his skull and his big, meaty palms pressing on each cheek hard enough to hurt. And then he started moving Nureyev’s head for him. 

“Wait,” was what Nureyev wanted to say, but since there was a dick down his throat, he could only manage, “ _ Ghrrnk.”  _ Either the man didn’t care or he didn’t hear, because suddenly he was thrusting into Nureyev’s mouth with abandon, hitting the back of his throat each time, using his mouth like he was a sex toy instead of an actual human being. Nureyev was good at blowjobs, but he wasn’t this good. He gagged around his cock, and tried to breathe but found himself unable to. Tears pricked behind his eyes as the man’s thrusts grew deeper, harsher, his guttural groans filling the room they were in. 

It wasn’t even a few minutes into this when Nureyev gave up trying to give the man what he wanted. He took his nails, freshly filed into points earlier that day, and dragged them down the man’s thighs, hard enough to draw blood. His mouth was otherwise occupied, so actions would have to speak louder than his words. The man pulled Nureyev off of him with a yelp, practically throwing him to the floor. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he yelled, touching the red lines on his leg quickly beginning to well with blood. Nureyev couldn’t answer, because he was on all fours on the ground, expelling his lunch onto the floor. He coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice hoarse when he replied. 

“What’s wrong with  _ me _ ? Oh, last time I checked, I wasn’t the one who decided to face fuck a stranger without asking first,” Nureyev rasped out, snot and tears and stomach acid dripping from his face. “You’re disgusting.” 

“ _ I’m _ disgusting?! You’re fucking throwing up all over the place! What, you can’t hold your liquor?”   
  


“I can hold my liquor, thank you very much! Sometimes! This is what happens when you hit someone’s gag reflex with your dick over and over,” Nureyev said, then coughed again. His throat hurt, and the logical part of him knew that he needed to go get some water, a cough drop maybe, and lie down. He stood on shaky legs and nearly collapsed, catching himself on a nearby shelf. A shelf? He looked around, taking in his surroundings for the first time. A mop, a few spray bottles, a duster...

“Tell me, are we in a janitor’s closet?” Nureyev asked. 

“Oh, god, don’t ask me hard questions right now,” the man groaned. He had taken off his shirt and was dabbing at the blood from where Nureyev had clawed at him. What a drama queen. Nureyev grabbed a towel, and wiped the various fluids off of face, probably thoroughly fucking up his makeup. 

“You’re such a scumbag,” he mumbled. “I’m going to get some water, and you’re  _ not _ invited.” Nureyev turned and, leaning on the wall for support, made his way to the door. He wrenched it open after struggling a little with the knob, then turned again to face the man. “You’re also ugly.” And with that triumphant final line, he stepped outside of the janitor’s closet, closed the door, and promptly threw up again in the hallway. 

Nureyev didn’t remember exactly how he got there, but he woke up in the room he’d rented for the three nights that he was in town. He was still fully clothed, vomit dry and crusty on his chin, and he definitely had not gotten any water. A pained groan left him as he peeled himself off of the clammy sheets. He needed a shower. 

As he got undressed in the bathroom, he heard a heavy thud of something falling out of his jacket pocket and hitting the ground. Puzzled, he turned to see a thick wallet laying on the tile that definitely wasn’t his. Nureyev picked it up, flipped it open to see an identification card. It was the man from the night before, and his name was Bernard Beck. He didn’t even remember taking it from him. When he stood under the water and cleaned himself, he thought with a smirk about what things he could steal under the alias that was just dropped into his lap. 

\--

Juno’s nails dug into Iris’ shirt, hard enough to nearly draw blood. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his entire body was strung up with tension so tight he thought he might snap in half. Their hand tightened on the next upstroke, and he groaned, snapping his hips up and throwing his head back. 

“That’s right,” they cooed, ducking their head to nuzzle into his neck. “Come for me, baby.”

Well, he was fucking  _ trying.  _

_ A breathy laugh, a moan tucked into his collarbone, a strand of black hair that fell into a lean and soft face-  _

Juno whined, pulling Iris closer, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and pretending he wasn’t getting a handjob in a back alley. Pretending he couldn’t hear the muffled sound of awful pop music on the other side of the wall, pretending like he wasn’t shivering. 

_ Red lipstick stains on his wrists, the points of two sharp fangs digging into his inner thigh, that cologne- _

“Fuck,” Juno growled. “I’m sorry, I- I can’t.”

Iris stopped, but didn’t move their hand away from his cock. “You can’t?”

“Can’t come,” he grunted. “I want to, I just. Um.”

Iris rolled their eyes, pulling away and wiping their hand on the pants they wore that looked like they were designed personally by Cecil Kanagawa. “You old men are all the same. You either can’t get it up or you can’t finish. Waste someone else’s time.”

“Well, you’re fucking pleasant,” Juno grumbled. “First of all, I’m not old, I’m 39, and second of all, maybe you’re just bad at handjobs.” 

Iris snorted, tossing their hair over their shoulder. “If I was so damn bad at it, maybe people wouldn’t pay me for it. That’ll be 20 creds.”

Juno blinked. “Hm? Pardon?”

“You heard me. 20 creds.”

Juno groaned, and this time it was not a pleasured sound. His head fell back to  _ thunk _ against the brick wall. He thought about the way Iris had approached him at the bar inside the club, with wandering hands on his chest, a shirt that was a little too sheer, asking if he wanted a good time. It was obvious in hindsight. No one wanted to fuck Juno because they were actually attracted to him, not when he was drinking his sorrows away at some fucking club made for college kids. “How did I not realize you were a-” he mumbled, rubbing his temples. 

“You didn’t realize? That’s a load of bullshit.”

“I didn’t!” Juno said. “I thought you were just-”

“What, being nice? You’re not my type, sweetheart, I prefer my men with less sadness, less years, and less alcohol in them.”   
  
“Stop calling me  _ old, _ you’re not that much younger than me-”

“I’m 23.”

“ _ You’re 23?  _ Fuck.”

“Jesus, are you really that dumb?”

“I’m actually a detecti- it doesn’t matter. Hold on.” Juno sighed, digging into his coat pocket for his wallet. He found it and handed Iris the 20 creds, who tucked the money into their bralette. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” they said, with a tone that indicated it was absolutely not a pleasure, and yanked open the back door of the club. The pounding music filled the alley for the few moments it took for Iris to disappear back inside, and then it shut behind them, muffling the music once more, leaving Juno alone in the alley. He sighed, and tucked himself back into his underwear. He was already soft again, and just felt more gross than anything else. 

He looked up at the sky, at the neon lights that loomed overhead, and could swear he saw Peter Nureyev’s name spelled in them. 

\--

And then Juno came back. 

There were cold family meetings. A heist. An argument. Gold fabric that Nureyev couldn’t tear his eyes away from. A dance. An apology. Warm hands exploring each other in cold rooms. Poetry. One kiss, then a second, then a third, then so many that they both lost count. 

Juno collapsed back onto his pillow, his body shaking and his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were still closed, but he could feel Nureyev’s hand dance across his stomach. He laughed, and caught it with his own. 

“Don’t tickle me, bitch,” he mumbled, then reached up and wrapped his arms around Nureyev. He gathered his body up against his, holding him close. And Nureyev went so willingly, melting against his body. They tangled themselves around each other, Juno’s lips pressing lazy kisses into his forehead and Nureyev’s hands drawing patterns into his back. 

Juno couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy. 

They just laid like that for a while, holding one another, occasionally whispering little inside jokes or just telling each other how pretty they were, how handsome, how cute. The afterglow was always Juno’s favorite part, but it was even better when he was with someone he actually cared about. 

The mood shift was subtle, but Juno didn’t do detective work for over 15 years for nothing. Nureyev’s hands stilled on his back, his body grew just ever so stiff against his, and his steady breathing paused for just a moment. 

“What is it?” Juno asked, brushing a lock of hair from Nureyev’s face. Nureyev huffed. 

“Nothing, Juno, dear, why-”

“Don’t lie to me, what’s wrong?” Nureyev sighed, and leaned into his touch as he thought. Juno let him, stroking his thumb against the high point of his cheekbone. 

After a long moment, he finally said, “Did you sleep with anyone else after we met?”

Juno’s brow furrowed. “Are you trying to start a fight?”   
  
“Hm? No, I’m just curious-”

“I do  _ not _ want to get into a fight with you right now, it’s so late-”

“Juno. I’m not going to get mad.”

“Yes, you are, you have a jealous streak a mile long.”

“I do  _ not-” _

“You nearly tore Zolotovna’s face off for  _ looking  _ at me.”

“Oh, she did  _ far _ more than just  _ look-” _

“And my point is proven.”

Nureyev shook his head, closing his eyes to gather himself. “I won’t get mad. I just want to know, or else it will be all I think about. Not knowing is worse.”

Juno hummed. “I understand that, I guess.” It was a very long moment before he added, “Yeah. I did.”

The hand on Juno’s back twitched like it wanted to clench into a fist. “How many?”

“Nureyev-”

“Juno, how many?”   
  
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because-...” Juno took in a sharp inhale, and willed his face to not turn red. “Because I thought about you each time.”

Nureyev was very quiet for a moment before laughing, a harsh and humourless thing. “You don’t need to soften the blow, dear-”

“I’m not! It’s true,” he insisted, running a hand through Nureyev’s hair. “I swear on my life. I thought about you... every second I was with them. And after... you know... after  _ you, _ I couldn’t-” This time, Juno’s will did nothing to stop the reddening of his cheeks. “I couldn’t even get it up.”

Nureyev, the little shit, his face  _ lit up.  _

“Really?” he asked, his grin huge and growing by the second

“No need to sound so fucking  _ delighted  _ about it-” Juno griped.

“No, no, not  _ delighted,  _ I’m... relieved.” Nureyev trailed his hand down Juno’s chest, his confidence flooding back into him all at once, it seemed. “I apologize for  _ breaking _ you, darling, I didn’t realize I was  _ that good-” _

“Okay, okay, you can stop gloating now,” Juno said, but even as he swatted away Nureyev’s hand, he was smiling, too. It was a contagious thing. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Did you sleep with anyone else?”

“Yes, I did,” he answered with almost no hesitation. 

“Oh.” Juno hated the little part inside of him that flared up in jealousy, especially after berating Nureyev for _ his _ jealousy. 

“It wasn’t more than, ah, maybe five times? But... I never derived any pleasure from it. I was usually bored, or doing it for a job, or...” Nureyev shifted suddenly, pushing on Juno’s shoulder so that his back was flat on the bed, and then rolling on top of him, their bodies pressed flush together. “...Or I imagined that it was you.”

“Yeah?” Juno prompted, his voice small and suddenly shy. 

“Oh, yes,” he responded, leaning down and kissing Juno. Well, it was less of a kiss and more of a barest brush of their lips together, but it still made Juno feel like he was being electrocuted. “I did all the things to them that I wanted to do to you.”

Juno shivered. “What things?”

“Oh, things like...” Nureyev’s mouth traveled to the underside of his jaw, mouthing gently at Juno’s skin between his words. “Making them come until they were crying. Tying them to the headboard. Leaving marks all over their thighs. Sitting on their faces. Having them beg for me to touch them.” He bit down on the side of Juno’s neck, and Juno let out this pathetic little cry. “Does any of that sound appealing?”

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Juno said simply, and Nureyev smirked against his skin. 

“Oh, I do miss how easily worked up you are, dear.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, tilting his head back. Nureyev huffed another laugh, and then went very quiet, kissing down his throat. There was a lack of urgency to it, an ease in his movements that made Juno sigh and relax into the sheets. 

“What did you do with them?” Nureyev asked, and Juno lifted his head from the pillow to look down at him. 

“They just fucked me, most of the time,” Juno responded, running a hand up Nureyev’s side. “It was just always hard and fast and sometimes it just hurt.” At the look of concern that flashed across his face, Juno quickly corrected himself. “No, not- not physically. Well. It hurt physically sometimes but it was- that’s not what I’m talking about. I- it hurt because it wasn’t you,” he said, his voice small and vulnerable. Normally, he’d clam up right about then, crack some joke or change the subject. But with Nureyev looking at him with those soft eyes and his body pressed up against his, Juno wanted nothing more than to be known by him. 

“I thought about you every time. After I left you, I thought about how gentle you were with me, how you treated me like I was something fragile or delicate. Like if you touched me the wrong way, it would make me break. And before that I didn’t think it was possible for me to even break, I thought I was invincible and that it didn’t matter what people did to me. But after you, it felt like I was breaking every time.” Juno’s voice was barely a whisper, and his confession almost lost to the thrumming of the ship’s engines. 

“You aren’t fragile, not by any means,” Nureyev said, tracing a scar on his forearm with his thumb. “Juno, you’re the strongest person I know. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be treated with care and respect.” 

Juno’s breath hitched in his throat and a sob escaped him. “What the fuck,” he mumbled, wiping at his eye where a tear had started to trickle out. 

“Oh, darling,” Nureyev whispered, leaning up and kissing his eyelid, then his forehead, his cheek, the jagged scar across his nose, his lips. “You are something to be worshipped and beheld. You are gorgeous and you are powerful, and I am in awe of you every moment that I’m lucky enough to be in your presence.”

Juno let out a watery laugh, wrapping his arms around his neck. “You’re gonna make me cry,” he sniffed.    
  


“You already are crying,” Nureyev said with a smile that made Juno feel like he was melting. Juno can’t stand to look at him, because the emotions he was feeling were too much, too intense, and he thought his heart might explode in his chest. So instead he kissed him, slow and gentle, his hands caressing the side of his face, the nape of his neck, trying to make Nureyev feel even a fraction of what he was feeling. When they parted, they still laid there with foreheads pressed together and hands clinging to one another. 

“One time I said your name,” Juno confessed. 

“Sorry?”

“In bed. With someone else. I came and said your name.”

Nureyev propped himself up on his elbows, peering down at Juno. “I...” He looked stunned. “I don’t know whether to be flattered, or if I should laugh, or if I should be enraged that you revealed my name to someone else.”

Juno cracked a half-smile. “First one? Maybe? I only said your first name,” he said apologetically. Nureyev sighed. 

“I suppose I’ll allow myself to take the compliment then, I suppose,” he said, an air about him of nonchalance and annoyance, but the smile teasing at his lips told Juno just how much he liked this little tidbit of information. 

“I’d only met you once at that point,” Juno continued. “You were in my head for that long, you bastard.” Nureyev grinned, leaning back down to kiss at the sharp curve of Juno’s jawline.

“The feeling is mutual,” he said, running a hand down Juno’s bare chest. His thumb brushed over one a nipple piercing, and Juno let out a little whine. “You took over my head, occupied my every thought. From the first moment I saw you.”

“Maybe you just have a thing for windows,” Juno gasped as Nureyev kissed the hollow of his throat. 

“Maybe,” Nureyev said. “Or maybe seeing you, silhouetted in the light outside, framed in the window panel like the goddess you are... maybe it took my breath away how pretty you were, and maybe seeing your mind work, getting a peek into the inner workings of Juno Steel... maybe that was what I have ‘thing’ for.”

Juno shivered, back arching into his hands. “ _ Nureyev _ ,” he said, unsure of what he was asking for. 

“I’ve got you,” Nureyev whispered. “Let me take care of you.” His hand slides further down his body, raising goosebumps on his torso. Juno nodded, desperately, and Nureyev ran his hand across Juno’s inner thigh. Juno’s leg spread, his knees propped up on either side of Nureyev as his hand continued to explore the sensitive skin idly. 

“Look at you,” Nureyev whispered. “You’re so pretty, my dear, do you even know what you do to me?” 

“I have an idea,” Juno said breathlessly, hooking one leg around Nureyev’s. 

“You drive me out of my mind.” Nureyev’s hand strayed closer to where Juno really wanted it before tracing the crease between his thigh and hip. “You intoxicate me.” Nureyev leaned down to kiss him, and Juno gasped against his mouth as his cock rubbed against his bare stomach on the way down. 

“Nureyev,” he breathed, reaching up to cup his face. “Nureyev.” He couldn’t think of any other words, any other things, any other people. The names of those before this moment all slipped his mind. Diamond, Reuben, Iris, they all faded away with Nureyev’s lips against his. 

“Juno.” Fuck, he loved the way his name sounded on his lips. Like it was something worth saying. “What do you want? What can I do for you?” He took Juno’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles like they belonged to a princess.

“Uh.” His head fell back against the pillow, and he tried to catch his breath, laughing a little at himself for a moment. “Just...” Juno was lost for words for a moment, staring up at the man who he never thought he’d have the privilege of holding again. “Just be gentle with me?”

Nureyev’s face softened, and he squeezed Juno’s hand. “Of course,” he whispered. “Always.” He pressed his forehead to Juno’s, and Juno sighed in the air between them as Nureyev ran his other hand down his stomach, between his legs, drawing slow circles with his fingertips at the crease between his hip and thigh. He kissed Juno, and the softness of it nearly shattered his heart in two. 

Juno sighed into his mouth, his hips lifting off of the bed for a moment to search for more contact. Usually, this was where Nureyev would grab him, pin him to the mattress, chastise him for moving without permission or something else embarrassing like that. But instead, Nureyev laughed a little, pressing a kiss to the corner of Juno’s lips, and rubbed his thumb into the peak of his hip. It was like there was nothing more he loved than seeing the way Juno reacted to his touch. He wrapped a hand around Juno, and his breath hitched in his throat as Nureyev swiped a thumb across the head of his cock. 

“Is this okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his lips still pressed against Juno’s. 

“Uh-huh,” he responded, the sound punched out of him. Somehow, just this, just the gentle stroke of Nureyev’s hand on him, just the lazy kisses, it was more overwhelming than the rough sex, the hair pulling, the dirty names. He could feel reverence in each touch, and it was such a foreign feeling that he was nearly dizzy with it. Nureyev’s other hand came up to cup Juno’s face, and Juno leaned into it immediately. He felt held. 

“You amaze me, my love,” Nureyev moaned into his neck, and Juno whined, tilting his head back. His hands clutched at his shoulders, his legs wrapped around his waist, holding onto Nureyev like he couldn’t stand for them to be any further apart. “Every day I look at you, I touch you, and I can’t get enough of you. I want to erect statues of you, worship you with my dying breath, make you feel even half as good as you deserve to feel.”

Juno gasped as Nureyev increased the speed of his strokes, his back arching up off of the mattress and against his body. He moved his arms from around his neck to cup Nureyev’s face, whimpering between needy kisses pressed to his cheeks, his lips, his nose. 

“ _ Nureyev, _ ” he said, and while Juno didn’t know what he was asking for, Nureyev seemed to have it all figured out. He kept going at that same, steady pace, and Juno melted in his hands. His mouth moved to the underside of Juno’s jaw, his lips dragging against his skin, down to the hollow of his throat. Juno was making these soft noises, little sighs and gasps, the occasional moan when Nureyev twisted his wrist  _ just right _ . He was whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but Juno held onto them like they were everything. He only caught bits and pieces of it,  _ beautiful, gorgeous, love, good, stunning, strong.  _ But each one he did catch made his heart jump a little, made him hold Nureyev just a little closer. They weren't empty praise, or words designed to distract or manipulate. It was an outpouring of affection that Juno felt in every bone in his body. He would be scared of it if he didn't love it so much. 

When Juno came, crying out Nureyev's name and gasping against his lips, it wasn't earth-shattering. He didn't see stars or fireworks or forget his name. They had already done that. No, it was satisfying in that it was with Nureyev, that it was Nureyev who was stroking him through his orgasm, who was kissing him so softly it made his knees weak, who held him to his chest as Juno caught his breath. 

Juno rolled over so that they laid side by side, kissing Nureyev and running his hands lazily over his shoulders, his chest. Normally he'd make some kind of quip here, distract from how vulnerable he felt. However, there was a safety he felt that came from being gathered up in Nureyev's arms that seemed to assuage those fears, even if for just a moment. 

Nureyev let out this tiny moan into the kiss from his throat, barely noticeable. Juno smiled, running his hand up and down his chest, dancing over surgery scars, enjoying the way Nureyev pushed ever so subtly into his touch. 

"You said you never... what was it, 'derived pleasure' from being with anyone else?" Juno whispered. Nureyev nodded. "What does that mean, you never came?" 

"They never  _ tried _ ," Nureyev said. "Besides, I didn't want them to, half the time. With most people, I didn't like the idea of not being in control, of not being aware of everything going on around me." 

"And with me?" Juno knew that they trusted each other, that Nureyev was comfortable enough to switch those power dynamics with him, but he still wanted to hear it from him.

"Oh, Juno," Nureyev sighed, kissing him. "No one has ever made me want to lose control quite like you have." 

Juno pulled Nureyev closer, wrapped one arm around his waist. His other hand trailed down his thigh towards his knee. 

"Can I touch you?" he asked. 

" _ Please."  _

Juno hooked his hand around the inside of Nureyev's knee, pulling it up and around his own leg. Nureyev's hips rolled forwards at the manhandling, another tiny moan escaping him. 

Juno's fingers stroked experimentally between his folds, and  _ fuck,  _ he was soaked. Nureyev moaned, letting his head fall forward and into the crook of his neck as Juno touched him. His slick was all over the insides of his thighs, and Juno swallowed thickly at the realization that he was this wet not from using him, or degrading him, or fucking him. Nureyev enjoyed just giving Juno pleasure, just making him feel good, and it made him ache. 

Juno rubbed his cock in strokes that quickly increased in speed, and each one had Nureyev gasping into his neck. Juno ran a hand through his hair, cradling the back of his neck, holding him close. 

"How’s that?" Juno asked. 

" _ Mm- _ little slower?" Nureyev said, almost sounding embarrassed about it. 

"Yeah. Of course." He complied with his request, and Nureyev let out the sweetest whine he'd ever heard. 

"Yes, yes, you-  _ ah-"  _ Nureyev's leg squeezed around Juno. "That's perfect." 

Juno touched him, all the while reveling in how quickly Nureyev fell apart for him. The masks and the aliases and the walls he put up all came crumbling down the moment Juno touched him. And Nureyev let them come down, let himself be needy and ask for what he actually wanted. 

“Juno,” Nureyev panted, moving so that he could kiss him fully. His hands landed on Juno’s shoulder, his waist, then he pulled away just a little, their foreheads pressed together. “More?” His voice was already strained. 

“Do you want my fingers?” Juno asked, his lips brushing just barely against Nureyev’s. Nureyev nodded, grinding into Juno’s hand. Juno moved away from his cock to his inner thigh, and the way Nureyev’s body bucked desperately in response to the loss of friction was the hottest thing Juno had ever seen. 

“I need to hear you say it, honey.”

Nureyev let out an impatient sound, high and needy. “ _ Yes, _ yes,  _ please _ .” 

Juno slipped one past Nureyev’s entrance, curling it upwards. His grip on Juno tightened, nails digging into his skin, hips pushing into his finger. He buried his face in Juno’s neck once more, his legs trembling as Juno fucked him, slow and steady, the palm of his hand still grinding against his cock. 

“I love being able to take care of you like this,” Juno whispered into Nureyev’s hair. “You make the prettiest noises for me, you know that?” Nureyev let out a little breathless laugh that devolved into a moan as Juno pressed into his g-spot. 

“I- You’ve made me aware a few times,” Nureyev quipped. Juno smiled, soft and ephemeral, before easing a second finger inside of him, causing Nureyev’s mouth to fall open in a silent ‘ _ oh’.  _

This wasn’t anything new to either of them. This was in the shower wasting hot water, under the sheets wasting time before breakfast, in the kitchen wasting food that was burning on the stovetop. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of this, though. The lazy intimacy of it all made him realize all over again each time how much he loved Peter Nureyev, each strand of hair, every scar, every wrinkle he would try desperately to smooth out with his night cream. 

“You're being so good for me,” Juno said, and felt Nureyev’s entire body shudder against his at the praise. “Can you take another one, honey?” 

“Yes, yes, Juno, yes-” Nureyev started babbling, but was quickly cut off by Juno putting a third finger inside of him. He keened, rolling his hips down into his hand, hands creeping around Juno’s upper back to press their chests flush together. 

“There you go,” Juno murmured. “Good boy.” 

A moan left Nureyev, one that was a little louder than the ones before it, and he looked like he was right on the edge, eyes glazed over, mouth hanging open. 

“Faster, please, Juno, I’m- _ah-_ _I’m almost there_ ,” Nureyev whimpered. 

Juno was anything if obedient, so he sped up, feeling Nureyev clench around his hand and tremble like a leaf in a sandstorm.

It didn’t take much longer after that for Nureyev to come, every muscle going tense for a few long moments. He muffled his cries against Juno’s shoulder, and Juno held him the whole way through it, knowing that Nureyev was being too loud but not caring. 

Then he relaxed, his breath hot against Juno’s skin as he tried to catch his breath. His death-grip became looser, his shaking a gentle occasional twitch. Juno kissed him wherever he could reach him, sleepy and soft, and Nureyev hummed happily in his arms as he came down from his high. 

“Do you need water?” he asked, and Nureyev shook his head, nuzzling into him and slipping a leg between his thighs as he settled against his body. It was late, and they were both exhausted. There were a few mumbled goodnights, a few more lazy movements that barely qualified as kisses, and then they were drifting off to sleep, tangled up in each other in a way where they couldn’t tell where one person ended and the other began. 

When Nureyev woke up the next morning, about twenty minutes before their alarm, clutched close to Juno Steel like they were bound together, he couldn’t help but grin. The room was still dark, so he could just barely make out Juno’s features in the very dim lighting. The curve of his jaw, the stray curl on his head that stood out amongst the rest, the shadow of his eyelashes cast across his cheek. He was beautiful, but more importantly, he was  _ here.  _

It had so quickly become his new normal to wake up beside him, that Nureyev sometimes forgot to sit back and appreciate how far they’d come. There were still complications, messy emotions that bubbled up at inopportune times, tears shed and backhanded comments when things were particularly tense. They weren’t perfect, so the relationship wasn’t perfect. That was only natural. 

But at the beginning of each day, at the end of each night, he had  _ this.  _ He had Juno laying beside him, and it still made his heart skip several beats every time. 

As he waxed poetic in his head about his love for his lady, Juno’s good eye cracked open. 

“Whutimezit?” he mumbled. 

“It’s still early. Go back to sleep,” he said softly. Juno grumbled something else, but closed his eye and soon his breathing went slow and deep once more. 

Nureyev figured he should try to get some more sleep as well. They had a long day ahead of them; Buddy had called a family meeting about something he hadn’t quite caught at the time, too lost in his own thoughts. 

So he pressed in closer to Juno’s warmth, closed his eyes, and drifted into something closer to sleep. He tried to remember the last time he felt this safe. 

**Author's Note:**

> UWU thanks for reading im dying


End file.
